


Go around this roundabout

by mm_coconut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_coconut/pseuds/mm_coconut
Summary: The Starks couldn't very well put theirsecondoldest in a playgroup if the oldest wasn't in one, too.





	Go around this roundabout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebatwiggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebatwiggler/gifts).



Sansa, of course, is the one to bring the pamphlet home. It is thick with tasteful full-color photographs of spacious, well-appointed rooms. **Sign your child up for an exclusive weekly playgroup** , it coaxes in tasteful script. **Let your young alpha or omega pick their playmate from among the city's most eligible pool of participants** , it says smugly. **Highly qualified beta chaperones!** it insists.

"What qualifications do you need to watch a bunch of rich teenagers pawing at each other?" Arya wonders out loud. Inevitably, it turns into a fight with Sansa at the dinner table. Catelyn sternly orders them to settle down, but Jon silently agrees. He shares a commiserating smirk with Arya over the roast.

Sansa begs her parents for weeks. She tells them that _Joffrey Baratheon_ has been hinting that he would offer a contract if Sansa joined his playgroup. While Catelyn and Ned have no real love for Joffrey or Cersei Lannister, they can't deny that it would be excellent for all their children's prospects if they were connected to their family names. 

And they couldn't very well put their _second_ oldest in a playgroup if the oldest wasn't in one, too. _It wouldn't be appropriate_ , Catelyn demurs. 

And Robb, the fucker, says _yes_. He glances at Jon when he says it, as if he actually expects Jon to go along, too.

Of course, where Jon is concerned, Catelyn doesn't want to pay for it. 

"In the end, a playgroup is really just about making connections when you're young. Jon isn't interested in that kind of thing. Are you, Jon?"

The hot sting of shame is so unexpected that Jon's original reply dies on his lips. He'd thought that his aunt was finally warming up to him, but it looks like Jon was wrong again after all.

"No, I...no." He looks down so he doesn't need to see Robb's betrayed glare.

"See? That's settled, then." Catelyn pats Jon on the back, satisfied. "No point in spending money to make your cousin go through something that will just make him miserable, Robb."

 

 

As Robb leaves the house for his first playdate on Friday, he lingers at the front door and shoots an unreadable look at Jon. Jon turns away to go to his room, where he channels some of his sudden, restless energy into doing his homework.

Jon hates the whole idea of playgroups, really. One day, while Sansa was still trying to convince her parents, Arya swiped that pamphlet from her room. She brought it to Jon and they both snickered over it for ages until Catelyn caught them at it. 

Rich parents used playgroups as a particularly creepy way to maneuver their children into politically motivated heat bonds. For their kids, it was just an excuse to get away with lots of horny making out and heavy petting. Though that part didn't sound all that bad, Jon admitted to himself. Silently.

The participation fees were staggering, which kept the less desirable families from mingling with the elite. The Starks could certainly afford to put Jon in a playgroup, if he wanted it enough to ask. 

He told himself he didn't want it. 

He hears Robb get back a few hours after he left. Heavy footsteps come down to the end of the hallway and stop in front of Jon's door. There is a very long pause before the steps turn back around. He hears Robb's door close with a final-sounding click.

 

 

"Did you offer someone a contract?" Sansa gushes the next morning.

"What? No!" Robb is genuinely shocked pale by the question. 

"Well, _I_ got _three_ offers on my first playdate," Sansa declares, preening.

"Yes, we all know," Arya rolls her eyes. _Hard_.

Things escalate quickly from there, but Jon just pretends he doesn't hear any of it and keeps his focus on his food. He leaves the table as soon as he's finished and grabs his bag to head out.

"Wait for me!" Robb calls out, gulping down the rest of his juice in a hurry. Jon shuffles irritably near the door, and they leave together. Robb offers him the last croissant from today's pastry spread, the kind with almonds in it, and Jon eats it in four huge bites while Robb looks on with a grin.

Robb is quiet on the way to the station, wearing the little wrinkle between his eyebrows that means he's thinking too hard. With mounting horror, Jon realizes that Robb wants to _talk_ about yesterday. Robb's mouth works a few times, as if he wants to say something but isn't quite sure how to start. He meets Jon's eyes and fidgets closer, bringing their heads together like he doesn't want anyone else to overhear.

"I don't...really want to hear about it," Jon tells Robb abruptly, leaning away. He doesn't want to hear Robb _brag_ about whatever omega playmate he had under him yesterday. "Your playgroup. It's really not my kind of thing."

"Oh," Robb says, deflating. "All right then." He takes a step away.

They're at the station by now. They're silent while they wait for the train.

 

 

Things between them change. It must be Robb's little playgroup friends, Jon thinks bitterly, making him think he's too good for a _Snow_ now.

They'd always been close, but now Robb starts keeping Jon at a distance. Robb tries to be subtle about it, but Jon can't help but notice when Robb stops touching him entirely. He doesn't sling his arm around Jon, doesn't reel him in so they can snicker about Theon, doesn't mess up his hair and settle it just so again. Robb doesn't sit next to him if he can avoid it, doesn't even stand closer than three feet from him. When Jon glances at Robb now, he always sees Robb jerking his gaze away, like he can't stand to look at him.

Jon and Robb share a bathroom. They'd never had a problem navigating around each other when they did their morning and nightly routines, but now, Robb can't be in there with him. The third time Jon brushes his teeth alone, he realizes that Robb must be waiting for Jon to be finished with the bathroom before he'll come in. Jon knows it's childish, but sometimes he takes an extra long time in there, just to make Robb wait for his turn.

Robb has always been the golden boy, the nice one, the kind one, who went out of his way to do the right thing. When Jon's foster mom passed away and he came to live with her brother's family ten years ago as a little kid, Robb was the one to make him feel like Winterfell was his new home. With Jon, he shared his snacks, his toys, his family. This Robb, the one that can't be in the same room with him, who will hardly talk to him, isn't someone that Jon recognizes anymore.

Arya and Bran notice, of course, and make an effort to spend more time with him. He loves them and wants to be grateful, but it just makes him feel more pathetic. His eyes prickle while he stares at the TV, and he doesn't remember a single line of dialogue afterwards.

 

 

On the second Friday night that Robb goes on one of his little playdates, Jon listens to loud music and focuses angrily on studying. Later, over the beat of the music, he thinks he can feel footsteps coming up to his door. But they never come in, and since Jon doesn't call out to see who it is, never reaches out and opens it, the door stays closed.

 

 

That weekend, the two of them squabble over the last of Nan's cheese scones. It's a pitched battle and they're both covered in crumbs until Jon finally gains possession, curling his body around the scone protectively and turning his back on Robb. 

"Not fair!" Robb mock-growls, long arms reaching around Jon's body, hands trying to grab the scone. They're both laughing, and Jon feels lighter than he has in weeks, but then Robb tries to lunge even closer and plasters himself front-to-back against Jon, who has to bend forward under the weight— 

Robb jumps backwards, and Jon looks around, surprised at how easily Robb's given up on their favorite scones. Robb can't meet his eyes, runs a hand over his face and buries it in his hair as he takes a deep breath.

"You can have it," Robb says, looking everywhere but at Jon. Belatedly, he adds,"But I get first pick from the next batch of cherry tarts that Nan makes. The sour ones."

He speedwalks out of the kitchen before Jon can say another word.

 

 

That Friday, Jon gets permission to stay at Sam's house for the weekend. He goes straight there after school without bothering to stop at home. He and Ygritte and Sam watch Netflix and eat jaffa cakes for two days straight, and everything almost feels right, until Jon has to drag himself back home to Winterfell on Sunday. 

 

 

The next Friday night, there's a knock at Jon's door. "Come in," he says, thinking it's Arya demanding another 2K16 rematch. He's not expecting to look up and see Robb closing the door behind him. 

Jon is on the bed up against the headboard, tense as a coiled spring and pretending to read a textbook. Robb collapses face-down next to him, bouncing and making the bed creak. "I want you to come to playgroup with me," Robb mutters, low and muffled.

Jon snorts indelicately over the sudden clench in his chest. "You heard your mum. It's pointless to waste money on getting me into a playgroup." He scowls. "What alpha would offer a heat contract to a motherless _bastard_ like me?"

"Stop it," Robb protests, tired. 

"Whatever," Jon mutters. "I wouldn't want to sit there alone like a dickhead watching all those omegas parade in front of you, waiting for the little Stark lordling to pick one of them—" Jon stops and his face burns, because he's said too much.

"It's not like that!" Robb protests into the mattress.

"No?" Jon is incredulous.

After a moment, Robb turns his head to the the side so that Jon can see his wince. There's an unsteady line across his forehead where he pressed it too hard into Jon's wrinkled sheets. "Well, maybe it's a little bit like that." 

"I knew it." Jon's stomach twists. "So? What _is_ it like?" He hates himself for asking.

Robb's expression shutters. "I thought you didn't want to hear about it."

"Tell me," Jon insists, vicious. "I'm just a _Snow_. I'm never gonna know what it's like. I'll have to hear all the details from _you_."

"It's really just—" Robb's lips twist ruefully. "It's like..it starts out like a bloody school disco. It's a little room with all the alphas on one side, and omegas on the other. Beta adults wandering around."

 _Highly qualified beta chaperones_ , Jon remembers. "What else?"

Robb worries at his lower lip with his teeth. "The ones who already know who they want to be with...they pair off and go to the big room and just start, uh, playing."

"What, right there?" Jon gapes, incredulous. "Right in front of everybody else?" Gods, rich kids were _unbelievable_.

Robb is bright red in the face. It clashes horribly with his hair, Jon tells himself. "There's a lot of, y'know, big pillows. And flowing curtains. There's a little privacy, but you can't hide from the chaperones."

"Or from other nosy teenagers," Jon says, snide. Robb snorts in agreement. When he doesn't offer anything else, Jon nudges him in the side with his knee. "And then? The omegas line up to offer their willing bodies to the strong, young alphas?"

Robb's face does something complicated. "It's not—" He quails when Jon glares down at him. "Okay, fine, it's a little..." Robb swallows, and his voice goes quiet. Jon has to lean closer to listen. "The omegas come up to you, yeah. They flirt, like, batting their eyes and biting their lips or whatever. _You_ know." 

_No, I don't,_ Jon doesn't say. 

"They come up close and, uh, scent you." Jon can't look away from the flush high on Robb's cheeks. "And. It's only polite to. Um. Scent them back."

Jon's mouth goes dry. All those omegas, leaning in to rub their faces against Robb's neck. Stealing a little taste if they were bold enough. And Robb, considerate Robb, returning the favor. Dragging his lips against their skin, breathing in against their collarbone. 

For a long moment, Jon is so miserably jealous he can't breathe.

"And?" Jon can't hide the bitterness in his voice, but he needs to know. "What happens then?"

"Then, you—pick each other. If you think they smell right." Robb swallows. "And the two of you go off to an empty spot and, uh, play. And if you like each other enough, you pick each other again the next week, too." 

_Why am I doing this to myself,_ Jon thinks. "Who do you usually end up picking?" 

Robb tips his head up to look at Jon in surprise, eyes searching. "No one," he says slowly. "I haven't picked anyone, yet."

Jon stares, not hearing right. "You don't like _any_ of them?" 

Robb shrugs. "None of them smell right."

The sick pressure that's been bearing down on his chest now rises off him, and it leaves Jon shaky. He rolls his eyes to hide it from Robb. "Of course. Always so bloody picky." 

"Jon," Robb says. He levers himself up to scoot towards the headboard, and Jon is suddenly very aware of how close they are on his bed, closer now than they've been in weeks. "I told you. I want _you_ there."

Jon's heart stutters, pounding so hard he can feel his pulse in his chest, in his throat; he can hear it rushing in his ears. "You want me there," he says slowly. "To...to share in the misery with you."

"No." Robb narrows his eyes. 

Jon can't look away. "To make fun of the other kids," he says weakly.

" _No_ ," Robb growls. "Try again."

A possibility hits Jon then, one that seems like the obvious answer, that sucks all the hope out of the moment in a single breath. He turns his head away and wants to throw up. "You want me there to help pick someone out for you."

"Oh, for—" Jon's world tips sideways and down as Robb yanks Jon on top of him with both hands fisted in his shirt, and Jon scrambles to hold himself up on his hands. 

Robb glares up at him, eyes snapping, and then...tips his head to the side in a blatant invitation. Jon doesn't move, frozen on top of him, head spinning, unable to react. After a long moment Robb suddenly droops, defeated, all that confidence gone. He loosens his grip on Jon. "Look, it's okay if you don't want to but—just once, just this part, the scenting...can we? Please?" He arches his head back even further, begging wordlessly.

Before he really registers what he's doing, Jon feels himself bend his head down, and suddenly he's breathing Robb in, nose just brushing the divot at the base of his neck. Robb swallows visibly, not quite able to bite back a sigh. Jon isn't sure what he's expecting, because he just smells like—Robb. It's the same scent he's breathed in for years, nothing particularly remarkable about it, although he hasn't really smelled it in weeks. Jon almost feels a pang of disappointment that there's nothing _different_ about Robb's scent here. He presses closer, trying out the spot below Robb's ear, or along his jaw; he tries to detect anything new on the other side of Robb's neck, if he can note anything strange about the exact point where Robb's skin turns into the soft whorls of his hair, or at that spot where he can see Robb's pulse pounding, _feel_ it fluttering under his tongue, between his teeth— 

Jon lets go and jerks back, breathing hard. "Sorry," he blurts, "gods, I'm sorry—"

Robb is—completely wrecked. His eyes are glassy and dazed, his skin flushed red from his slightly sweaty hairline all the way down his neck, where Jon's lips and teeth have left a livid mark. His hair's a mess because Jon's been using it as a handhold to move Robb's head around to his liking. _Jon_ did this, and his gut churns at how _destroyed_ Robb looks even as something else inside him hisses in satisfaction.

Robb's eyes clear as Jon watches. Robb blinks slowly, once, twice, before he focuses on Jon's face. Then everything shifts again as Jon is suddenly rolled onto his back in one fluid movement, vision whirling. 

"My turn now?" Robb asks eagerly. He doesn't look particularly upset. His eyes are bright, his color high. "Can I?" His knees squeeze down around Jon's hips and thighs as he leans down, lips parted hopefully.

Jon swallows and turns his head to the side, baring his neck.

He braces himself for a mauling in return, is not, he tells himself, going to fight it, but Robb just eases into his space. He presses his face into the crook of Jon's neck and breathes in so deeply Jon is sure his lungs will burst. Robb's muscles relax on a slow, endless exhale that warms the side of Jon's neck.

"Gods, Jon," Rob mutters, his lips shivering against Jon's skin as he talks. The tips of his fingers play with the ends of Jon's hair. His voice shakes. "I missed you."

Jon grabs at Robb's shoulders with a broken noise, not sure if he wants to pull him closer or push him away. "Then why did you _leave_ me," he wails, all the emotions from the past few weeks bursting out of him. "Why did you leave me _alone_?"

Robb turns a devastated look on him. "I was going to ask you to come with me!" he says. "After that first time I went to playgroup. Just...watching everyone pairing off. I knew I wanted that with you, not with anyone else." Robb's expression clouds over. "But then you said it wasn't your thing, and I thought that—that maybe you didn't want to be with me after all. So I backed off."

Jon slugs him in the shoulder. The angle is terrible so it can't hurt very much, but Robb winces anyway. "You're a bloody idiot." And he drags Robb's face close for a messy, awkward, glorious kiss.

Robb responds immediately with an eager little moan, licking inside Jon's mouth. He bites at Jon's lower lip, works at it with teeth and tongue until Jon is squirming. He spreads his legs so Robb can hitch closer. 

Robb edges a few fingers underneath the edge of Jon's shirt. "Is this okay?" he asks hopefully.

Jon hooks a leg around Robb and yanks him in. "No, it's not okay," he snaps, wrapping his arms around Robb to clutch at his back. "Put your hands _on_ me, Stark."

Robb laughs, low and giddy, and just goes for it. He pushes one hand into Jon's hair and the other hand under his shirt so he can palm at Jon's chest, run blunt nails down over his stomach to stop carefully at the button of Jon's jeans. Jon groans at Robb's hands all over him, finally feeling like he can breathe again, and so it is of course at this exact moment that Catelyn opens the unlocked bedroom door.

There is a lot of yelling. 

 

 

In the end, Catelyn gladly pays Jon's playgroup fees without a single objection, if only to save them all from having to chaperone the two of them herself.

**Author's Note:**

> For Nelly, catered to her very particular ~~kinks~~ specifications.  <3


End file.
